


Toupee Or Not Toupee

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Bald Patch Kink, Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fisting (But Worse), Grinding, Hair Kink, Intentionally Bad, Italian Character(s), Licking, Monks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, This Is STUPID, Vaginal Sex, What Have I Done, based on art, but not really, head rubbing, scalp kink, very cursed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25645651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Terzo Emeritus hides a dark secret underneath his luscious locks.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	Toupee Or Not Toupee

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Tay's wonderful art: https://popiaswhitesuit.tumblr.com/post/622307888362323968

You wander up to the door of Papa's bedroom, vibrating out of your skin in anticipation. The youngest, endlessly charming Papa only called his faves to the bedroom. Wow.

You kick the door three times, and nothing happens. You knock again, politely this time. Five minutes later, you pick up a large candelabra and try to batter the door down. The candelabra breaks, for Papa’s bedroom door is made out of fucking repurposed steel. You’re extremely upset that you are now late for your evening date, so you grab a (square) hammer and absolutely obliterate the door knob.

“Hey man, that’s my hammer,” the blonde Thor guy from the Square Hammer video said sadly.

“Sorry,” you say, then you get sad too, because there’s no way to get through the door now (you just smacked the door handle off). Just then, Papa bursts through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man. He’s shirtless and oiled up.

"It’s time for the sex, no?” he smirks, eyebrows waggling so hard they fucked right off his face. Disturbed but trying to make peace with the fact that Papa no longer has eyebrows, you let him usher you into his chambers. Once inside, Papa is very insistent. His lips are already on your neck, before you even get all the way inside.

“Why did you take so long to answer the door?” you ask. Papa levitates behind you, eyes glowing red.

“Toilet time.”

“Oh fuck yeah, fair enough."

“So come now cara, we do the sex now, yes?” he rasps like Darth Maul (does Darth Maul speak?), twirling your hair and sniffing it. He nearly nuts.

“But Papa,” you giggle, yanking your hair back out of his death grip, “What about foreplay?”

“Oh yes,” he says, then holds up a gloved finger. “Give me a moment. I have to pray.” He gets on his knees and you watch as he clasps his hands together, whispering for Satan’s blessing. “It is for the cock,” he whispers, as if he’s letting you in on a secret. You nod slowly, checking to see what he means. He then gets up with no warning and goes over to his fireplace, pulling out a long fishing rod and hanging a piece of raw bannock bread on the end. He roasts it over his fire, pulling it out every few seconds to lick it.

“Papa?” you clear your throat, glancing at his toasty bannock in confusion.

“Ah. How rude of me, Sister. Would you like a bannock?”

“No! I want to get my pussy bulldozed by your papal schmeat,” you whine.

“What a fucking mood. Okie dokie, come to Papa!” You smile in anticipation as he gets back down on his knees in front of you, expecting him to take your panties off and eat you out a little. Instead, he flips your habit over your head, and jams his tongue in your belly button. After a half-hour of wiggling tongue, he finally relents. “Okay,” he pants, putting his hand to his head dramatically, “I cannot wait any longer to have you, cara mia. You have _turned me on_ so, hon hon hon.”

“I mean, same?” you mumble. You’re a little confused, but maybe he’s just kinky. He yeets you onto the bed, so hard you bounce and go up through the ceiling. Oh no. You’ve happened upon the Church attic, where Primo is taking a bath. Before you have time to figure out what the fuck is going on, Papa prods you down from the floor above with a big hook, yanking you back to bed.

“Sorry, brother!” he calls up.

“I visited Chernobyl once,” Primo begins to say, and Terzo runs to grab plywood and some nails.

“That is nice, goodbye.” He hammers the planks into a new ceiling, then turns his attention back to you: naked and ready on his bed.

“Oh, fuck me Papa!” you moan, shaking your tiddies at him. He gets between your legs, drawing a little :-) on his dickhead in vagina-safe scented marker. He laughs and wiggles it around like he’s putting on a puppet show. When he’s through playing with his smiley dick, he thrusts into you. As he begins to thrust with abandon though, he gets so into it that the fucking top of his hair falls off. Off, just gone. “What the fuck,” you whisper softly, with feeling. Papa looks down at the toupee that just fell off in panic.

“Cara, I can explain!” You go to touch his head, and Papa groans.

“Oh. You like that?” you ask, surprised at his sudden spike of arousal.

“Ave Satanas, _spingo un intero asino sul mio buco del culo,_ yes,” he whispers. You stroke his massive bald patch again, and he jerks. “Oh please,” he groans. You stand on your knees, and lick his head. The age spots taste salty, like salty cheese. “Fuck Cara, it is too much,” he says, “You must take your pleasure first or I fear I will cum too fast.” With suave ease, he slithers down between your open legs, and starts to rub his bald spot against your clit.

“Papa!” you moan, clutching onto his ring of black hair. You grind yourself down against his head. His Friar hair scratches pleasantly against your inner thighs, making you even more aroused. It feels less like actual hair, more like cowhide. Oh well. “Fuck me with your big bald spot, Papa!” you can't help but scream, and he gets lost in the moment, shoving his entire head into your pussy.

Your eyes roll back as you feel his nose hit your cervix, and you cum around his literal head. He pulls out, all his face paint snatched clean off by your snatch juice, so he's left looking like a John Travolta Gene Simmons looking _motherfuckerrr_ but even worse, with only half his hair. Your vaginal walls probably look like his face now, but you suppose it's his way of claiming you. If you got some kind of scan of your vagina, it would be Papa’s face looking back at them. Scary stuff, kids, use condoms.

“My paint,” he hisses.

“You left it in my vag,” you breathe, still recovering from your mind-blowing orgasm. The yeast infection would be worth it.

“Never fear,” Papa smirks, “My skull paint is coochie soluble.”

“Good to know. And look at you, I supersoaked you.”

“I can wash, I can wash,” he assures, reminiscent of the Grammys. What a fucking day that was.

“Did you cum?” you breathe, and Papa shakes his fucked baldish head.

“I am still at full attention for you, my _pane speciale_. You know why, eh?!”

“Why?” He gets out of megaphone, and floats over to the window, smashing through the stained glass to absolutely screech, "HERE WE CELEBRATE THE FEMALE ORGASM!"

A sour note from a saxophone echoes up. “Shut up, you fool!” Papa Nihil calls up, who was sunbathing in sunglasses and a speedo. He had one of Aether’s bananas stuffed down his pants for later, as a treat.

Papa backflips back into the bed, but the megaphone was left on by the window, so Nihil and the rest of the clergy now get to hear the rest of this torrid affair. Papa wipes your cum from his eyebrows, which had grown back by the power of Satan. “Why don't you let me take control?” you smile, and get in his lap. You can hear him grunt, and feel his cock twitch beneath you. You lean up to rub his glaringly shiny scalp, _I mean it’s fucking oiled,_ and caress it with the soft lips of a caring lover. He begins to moan, a high-pitched slutty sound worthy of the Ministry’s best porn star (aka Copia).

“Come _piccolo bastoncino di pesce_ ,” a debauched Terzo practically begs, “Come to sit on your Papa's naked scalp.” You do as he says, and take a seat on his head, grinding down onto it. The age spots have disappeared. Your pussy juice has cleared his crops, watered his skin. “That is it...” he starts to growl, holding on to your ankles as you ride him like a swing set and clamp your knees painfully around his ears. “You ride your Papa's head good, Sister.”

“Cum for me, Papa. You like it when I grind on your juicy salty scalp?” You sure like it yourself. You can feel the stubble of his barely growing hair on his bald spot rubbing against your clit, and you feel your second orgasm build. The door suddenly opens, and it's Special, dressed as Bjorn Ulvaeus from ABBA.

“Eminence, I have some papers I need you to sign.”

“Shoo!”

“But it is about the worker coming in to fix the water damage your eldest brother has ruined the attic with. He bathes up there with the spiders, you know.”

“Get a life, ghoul,” Papa says.

“With pleasure, Eminence.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” you admonish, and Terzo begins to feel bad. He calls the ghoul back.

“Special?”

“I am Bjorn today, Eminence.”

“Yes fine, Bjorn, I am sorry.”

Special bows so low that his face smacks into the floorboards, and his mask cracks open. It’s Jack Nicholson. “I do not accept your apology, you shitty man,” he says, and vanishes in a vape cloud before your eyes. Was he ever really there? Through the fading smoke, Papa II accidentally happens by the open door and sees you still riding his little brother’s head.

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” the bitter old man whispers. “Excuse me.” He goes off, grabs a spoon, and carefully spoons out his own eyes.

"Yes... yes!" you cry, and Papa's head begins to tingle. " _Yes_ Papa, I'm going to come all over your filthy ugly shaved Friar head!” you scream, and he cums hard, eyebrows blowing off with the force.

He cuddles you into his arms and his huge purple bed. “You are so sexy, _bella_ _narice_ ,” he whispers. You strap his toupee back on.

“So are you.” Your moment is interrupted by a loud banging at the door.

“Is everything all right?” Copia’s voice comes through. “I heard some pretty naughty things in here, _ehehehe_!” he chuckles creepily.

“Fuck off rat,” Three says, but his banishment was too late. Big Dick Cardi was already opening Papa's door with his dick. “I need to get a lock on that thing,” Papa mutters. The Cardinal enters on his tricycle, wheeling in at breakneck speed. You let out a loud scream. He's bald. He's fucking bald. “What the fuck,” Three whispers in disgust, as if he's one to talk.

“Oh,” the Cardinal nervously laughs, patting his fucking VOLLEYBALL HEAD, “I did not have time to put my wig on. Forgive me.”

“Holy shit,” you whisper, and Copia unzips his pants, putting one leg up on a stool, dick dangling as dicks do.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” Papa begs. Copia can’t hear him. His dick is too big. Papa gets a broom, and chases Copia out of the room, slamming the door. “And stay out!”

From the force of the door slamming, the patched up ceiling caved in, and Primo and his bathtub come crashing down on the bed. “You know young lady, back in my day, Elizabeth Bathory fit 126 anal beads up my buttocks,” he said to you, dead serious. You don’t know how to respond, so you just pick up Papa’s kazoo from the nightstand and toot it respectfully.

Angered that the after-sex pillow talk had been disturbed again, Terzo drop kicks poor Primo out his broken window. He turns back to you, sex beast mode back on, and trails a finger up and down your quivering chest. “So. You still want me, cara scoreggia? You find your Papa sexy, even without this?” He rips the toupee off.

“No,” you smile, putting it back on with Gorilla Glue, “But I'd let you shove your nasty head inside me any day... I consider it an honour.” Startled saxophone noises echo outside. Nihil had gotten his dick stuck in the sax again. Rest in peace old man.


End file.
